Transfigured Hearts 24: Into the Fire
by MrsTater
Summary: When Tonks turns up underground to help him back to the Order to give his full moon report, Remus' terror for her safety makes him lash out. What he does not expect is that the werewolf can be hurt, as well as do the hurting.


_This piece follows **And This Shall Be a Sign** in the **Transfigured Hearts** series and is set in January of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Special thanks to **Godricgal** for her beta help with this version and the original (not very different, some of you may have noticed) written for the June/July 2006 RT Challenge at LiveJournal._

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**Into the Fire**

His waking thought was that he was having a seizure, so violent was the trembling that jolted him painfully from sleep.

But opening his eyes, to which even the grey, pre-dawn light at first seemed too bright, Remus found himself lying on a bench, in a lane edged with snowy banks and skeletal trees, leading up to an old brick building.

He was cold.

As his smarting eyes adjusted, the haze cleared from his mind, leaving a vague impression of having dragged himself here sometime after moonset.

_Why?_ His muscles and joints screamed.

Hunching his shoulders and curling his knees inward in a vain attempt to keep warm made him stiffer and sorer than transformation alone. Why was he out here, in the open?

His shoulder had gone numb. Rolling onto his back, he winced at the pins and needles sensation of returning feeling as his overcoat fell open with a klunk. Pulling the patched garment more tightly around his shivering frame, he reached into the pocket. Fingers closed around a cold, ovular object. Why was there a rock in his—?

Oh.

His thumb sank into a mushy spot.

A potato.

It triggered another hazy memory of his stomach gnawing as he staggered to a dirty patch of snow, dropped to his knees, and dug with his hands through frost and soil like a dog in search of a bone.

He unclenched a hand to inspect it. His fingers and nails, poking through the tips of his tatty gloves, were filthy.

It was too late in the year for potatoes, and this one was probably frozen. Or rotten. Hunger had been more compelling than logic.

Why hadn't he eaten, then? Why was he here? There were fires at the camp, and shelter from the January gales. Everyone would be sleeping off the previous night. It would be bearable today.

A gust of wind that sent a few dead leaves skittering across the path to the house swept the lingering cobwebs from his mind.

It was the morning after a full moon.

Remus always came here, a mile or so from the pack, to this brick cottage – an inn – where he could scrounge food from the garden or a bin before Apparating to the Burrow.

There was an Order meeting tonight, and Remus had a report to make.

He'd rooted for the potato in the hope of boosting his strength so that Alastor Moody, due to meet him here soon, would not think him so weak as to insist upon side-along Apparation. That would be too mortifying; and, as his aching body reminded him, Mad-Eye was not known for his gentleness.

It was a new arrangement for an Order member to check in with Remus after the full moon and see him back to civilisation. Thanks to Tonks', pleased that something be done to alleviate Remus' isolation from wizards during his assignment to the werewolves, Dumbledore had insisted upon it.

Of course, Dumbledore had not used so many words. "I am concerned for your health in the winter months," he had said. "You will be more susceptible to illness, with the scarcity of food, and transformations may be crueller, since you do not partake with the pack."

_Not yet, anyway._

"It will ease my mind considerably," Dumbledore had said, kindly blue eyes clouded with more sadness now, and fatigue, "to know that your safety in travel, at least, will be assured."

Though he would not argue with Dumbledore, Remus thought it an unnecessary risk and even a bit insulting. He was a spy. Spies had to relay information. Of _course_ he would report to the Order at least once a month. Had he ever done anything to make them doubt that? He had lived alone and transformed without Wolfsbane Potion for the greater part of his adult life. He did not need anyone to hold his hand.

But even Remus could not be fully convinced of that, as he apparently had not mustered the strength to carry his paltry meal to the concealed Apparation point.

He'd best move along. Fat lot of good he'd do the Order if one of the inn's groundskeepers came along and took him for a vagrant.

Groaning, Remus pushed himself up with his elbows. Ignoring the spinning of his head, he settled his feet on the ground. They were so numb that he barely felt the cold as snow seeped in through the flapping soles of his shoes. He shuddered, however, at the damp that made his threadbare socks heavy.

_Taken _for a vagrant, indeed. Remus _was _a vagrant: ragged, unkempt, sleeping on a bench, an old pilfered potato in his pocket.

A spy for the Order of the Phoenix, yes; but a vagrant nonetheless.

Remus' legs trembled as he tested his weight. Haltingly, he shuffled through the snow to the little copse. Several times Remus thought he might collapse before he reached it, but remarkably his legs held up until he was ensconced.

There was a small measure of comfort in being secluded enough to use his wand. He melted snow so he could sit on the cold ground, against the wide trunk of a tree, without drenching his backside. A fire would attract attention, but he touched his wand to the potato, and warmth suffused from the palm cradling it, through his arm, down into his chest.

He was _almost _comfortable as deep fatigue gave way to drowsiness.

Remus' gaze drifted lazily to the inn, just visible through the shrubs. The ivy growing over the stones was brown, but in late summer it had been lovely. No lights now shone from within, but then sheer curtains had billowed with breezes wafting in through the open windows as Celestina Warbeck's crooning drifted out, whilst he stretched over Tonks' slim form in the bed, making slow deliberate love to her as they, newly eloped, savoured their first morning together as a married—

"Bloody hell"

The image vanished as Remus sucked in his breath through clenched teeth, flinging away the potato as he clutched singed fingers. The exposed tips were already reddening.

_Idiot_. He could hear Professor Flitwick stressing the importance of alertness when using magic to heat food.

"_Accio _potato." Remus gingerly caught it between gloved palms, relieved that the snow in which it had briefly rested had not cooled it, and juggled it between his hands till it reached an edible temperature.

As he sat still, he again battled drowsiness. Since Christmas, despite the mind-clearing – including all thoughts of _her_ – techniques he performed each night before settling down to sleep, he had begun to dream of Tonks more frequently. It always started out the same: playful and erotic, in keeping with the relationship they'd had before his assignment – and always to the accompaniment of that ridiculous Celestina Warbeck song.

But then Tonks would Metamorphose beneath him: soft pink hair became dry and drab in his hands, and empty and sunken eyes peered up at him from a sallow face. Sometimes she simply asked him to give her back her heart, so she would not look that way. But more and more frequently he knew her appearance was altered because she had come to the colony, and she had become one of them.

He never dreamt of being the one to turn her…He never dreamt of that happening at all, thank Merlin for that small comfort. He just knew she had been – and whether by his bite or not, he woke in a sweat and with a pounding heart with the knowledge that if ever such a thing happened, it could only be because of him.

At least he had not dreamt that today. At least he had woken before the traumatic images destroyed the achingly lovely ones.

Not that it was precisely pleasant to be reminded of what he had given up.

"Remus!" a half-whisper that sounded nothing like Moody's gruff voice jarred him from his waking nightmare. His heart thudded to a standstill in his chest.

The voice was decidedly feminine.

Remus looked around, clutching his wand. Seeing no one, he shook his head and ran a hand over his scruffy face. He'd probably dozed again.

"Over here!"

He looked to his right and, in subtle contrast with the green leaves of a holly, appeared familiar brown hair and a pair of round, dark eyes.

_Oh God. _

"Wotcher." Tonks' forehead disappeared into the Invisibility Cloak.

She had not come. She could not have come. Not here. Not so near…

And she could not see him like this, absolutely filthy, so pathetic after the moon and with the stolen potato…

"What are you doing here?" Remus croaked.

"Morning, Remus. Lovely to see you, too," said Tonks briskly, at normal volume. Snow crunched as Tonks stepped closer, and an edge crept into her voice as she continued, "Or maybe that's the problem. You can't see me. Hardly any reason to be rude, though. You'd better brush up your werewolf manners."

Bristling, Remus bit back a snide remark about _her _manners. She was in Auror mode, and she was always brusque when she was on duty. It was good that she was so. They were colleagues in the Order, nothing more. It would not do for them to squabble. Professionalism was essential.

Even so, that did not mean he liked Tonks being a professional colleague _here_.

"Where's Alastor?" he asked.

"Something came up last minute."

"Dumbledore should not have sent you." Remus tried to push himself to stand, but his legs refused to cooperate. "It isn't safe."

"Not safe for me, but okay for Mad-Eye?"

Despite her invisibility, Remus felt her level gaze and imagined her arms crossing over her chest.

"Is that because Mad-Eye's more experienced," she went on, "or because you care more about me?"

"That's not fair." Remus' heart constricted with a hot stab which shredded all pretence of detachment. "You know that if anything happened to you on my account…"

She sighed so softly that he might not have noticed, except that her breath made a cloud.

"Come on." The swish of denim indicated Tonks had turned from him. "Let's go."

Remus didn't budge. "I've got to eat so I can Apparate."

Heat prickled up his neck as he felt Tonks' gaze travel to his thin fingers closed around the potato. Remus squared his shoulders, bracing himself for her to call him a prat for wanting to eat a mouldy potato for the sake of pride when Molly was waiting with a hot, hearty breakfast. A proper English wizard's breakfast.

Tonks said nothing of the sort. She said nothing at all, but merely trudged through the snow to him – leaving streaky prints rather than the clean, light impressions that would have indicated her old springy step – and sank to the ground beside him.

Remus shifted so she could lean against the tree. Their shoulders and hips touched. He knew ought to move away from her, but she was warm.

Her gaze was on him. He felt it. He wished he could see her, to gauge her mood.

Or did he? He might see pity.

Casting a spell to divide the potato into wedges, Remus asked, "Do you think I'm an egotistical prat?"

"You're more a bastard than a prat. But egotistical? No."

Remus bristled as a small, purple-gloved hand emerged from the cloak to rest on his patched sleeve.

"The morning after," she said gently, "you're entitled to be a bit of a bastard."

Flaky potato burning his sensitive mouth, her fingers stroking his arm through layers of fabric, Remus' sensations went into overload as he was barraged from within and without by exhilaration and shame. This was how he'd felt the first time Tonks saw him after a full moon.

Her presence comforted, yet made him ill at ease.

He was relieved that she could see him at his worst and not be put off; he hated for her to see him at his worst.

And she _should _be put off by this. If not by the monster he'd become last night, but by the beast he unleashed now.

"I am not entitled to treat _you_ badly," Remus rasped.

"Then don't."

Tonks' tone was so emotive that Remus was surprised not to turn his head and find himself looking into her defiant eyes.

"You can take off the cloak if you want," he said.

He took another careful bite, avoiding his tender tongue. His arm went cold as Tonks shifted away to unfasten the cloak. He wished he hadn't broken the moment, and swallowed painfully when the garment slipped away.

Dear Merlin, she was so drawn and pale…He'd seen her last month, the day after Christmas, and had thought her aged since last June. But she seemed even older now.

Was it her hair, dull and limp, poking out from beneath her lime green knit hat? No – it was her tight mouth, edged with minute lines. And her eyes. The only glitter was of tears at the corners.

She was staring at the potato. In a voice that was strong, yet obviously forced to sound so, she noted, "You woke hungry, then."

Remus nodded.

Tonks' hand settled on his arm again, and her upturned face was intent. "Does that mean you're not eating anything when you're…?"

Her eyes flicked downward. So seldom had she not been straight about his condition, or revealed any discomfort about it, that Remus' stomach knotted, even though he knew it was preposterous for him to expect anything from her. He could not allow himself to think that perhaps she was not uncomfortable, but _cautious _– aware of _his _self-consciousness, and allowing him room to address it as he was inclined. No, Tonks could not be that empathic after all this…

"I don't think I did last night."

A shudder coursed up his spine, and her fingers seemed to generate heat through her gloves and his sleeve. How could she touch him? She would not, if she fully grasped that he _could have _done – and yet might do – what Fenrir Greyback urged his pack to seek blood.

But Tonks' grip tightened, and her face glowed. Remus' heart accelerated. It had to be the cold. Tonks could not have taken _hope_ from his answer. Maybe he'd dozed again…

"You've got some control, then," Tonks said breathlessly, "even without Wolfsbane Potion."

Remus' heart leapt, but he forced it back where it belonged, heavy in his chest. "A bit of luck, perhaps."

The only sign of disappointment on Tonks' face was her pursed lips. She gave a small, resolute nod. "Right then. We'll take what we can get."

_We._

It was such a little word, but conveyed such great meaning. As it resonated through Remus' heart and mind, he could not check the impulse to dip his head and brush his lips across her forehead.

Tonks blinked hard, then rested her head against his shoulder.

She relaxed, only to sit bolt upright again.

"Bloody hell, Remus! You're skin and bones. Please tell me you're eating when you're _not _transformed."

Of all the strikes against him, Tonks _would _be most appalled by his thinness. Remus shifted his half-eaten potato to the hand closest to her.

Tonks' brows knit sharply. "Potatoes?"

"Sometimes carrots or radishes. Whatever I can find."

"That can't be helping with the transformations."

"The main thing is to quell hunger."

Tonks' frown deepened, and she opened her mouth in a retort. Before she could utter a syllable, Remus touched her knee.

"You are rather thin yourself, Tonks, and I know food is not as scarce in Hogsmeade as it is in lyc—" He caught himself. No point in sugar coating. He'd done too much of that, and knew from experience it hadn't made for easy adjustments. "—in werewolf colonies."

"Sometimes I'm too busy to eat."

Tonks jutted her chin rebelliously. Remus wished he could ignore her false bravado, as well as his own conscience, which made his stomach twist guiltily and threaten to regurgitate the potato.

"You're worrying."

"Of course I'm worrying." Tonks folded her arms across her chest. "And don't tell me not to, because it's not that simple, and it's not fair that you get to worry about me."

_Fair_. Remus could barely swallow. Was there such a thing?

Not for him.

And not for her, not where he was concerned. Merlin, how had he been so blind to that?

"So that's an inn?" Tonks was staring through the shrubs at the brick cottage. A light shone in the bottom window now. "Looks like a cosy place."

Remus _hmmed_, hoping to convey disinterest when he was _far _from it, recalling the snatch of dream – fantasy – he'd had before Tonks turned up. He didn't dare look at her. She wasn't a Legilimens, but she read him better than anyone. He'd already said far too much by kissing her, and by lingering here with her.

Softly, Tonks said, "It looks like the sort of place I imagined us—"

"Don't."

She turned into him, lifting a hand to touch his chin. His growth of beard prickled her wool glove.

"We still could, Remus," Tonks half-whispered. "I still would."

Biting back a groan, ignoring her small despairing sound, Remus fought through frozen joints and fiery muscles to stand. He took a few jarring strides from her, then turned back, letting the remaining bit of potato fall to the ground.

"I shall be sure to thank the proprietor," he said, "for making his garden accessible to starving werewolves."

Remus watched for her face to register astonishment. Tonks remained blank.

"I am a petty _thief_," he said.

Tonks rose, face down as she dusted snow from her coat. When she looked up, approaching him, her lips quirked into a wry grin. "You've got stories to swap with Dung now."

"It's not funny."

"It's a _potato_, Remus."

"This isn't the only one."

"You've got to eat."

"It's _stealing_." His forcefulness stopped her an arm's length away. "You are a law enforcement officer, Tonks, and the man you say you want to marry is worse than a thief. I am a Dark—"

"Shut up!" Tonks' hands shot up, as though to cover her ears, but instead raked through her lank hair, clutching at the roots. Her voice still reverberating in the cold, empty air, she added, "I hate it when you talk that way."

"What way? Truthfully?"

"It's not the truth!" Lunging, Tonks gripped the lapels of his coat. Her chest heaved as she went on, "You're not like them, and I don't care that you pinch potatoes—"

Remus grasped her wrists and gently pried her hands away. "I _am _like them."

"You're _pretending_!"

Tonks struggled, and Remus released her. He swayed slightly, legs suddenly unsteady – physical proof that no matter how much he wanted to believe Tonks, he was just like every other werewolf this morning.

"Pretending requires a little effort, Tonks." Remus smiled tightly. "I am afraid I exert none to fit in."

Before Remus could react, Tonks seized his hands. "You're trying to push me away, Remus Lupin, but it won't work. I love you, and nothing's going to change that."

He had to change that.

"Tonks—"

Remus' voice trailed away as her eyes briefly flashed, then blinked hard. They were red-rimmed as she said quietly, "You don't want me to stop loving you."

Of course he didn't want her to stop. He didn't want anything _but _Tonks. How could he not want her?

_Selfish bastard. _

He had to stop wanting her, for her sake.

"What I want does not matter."

Tonks fingers slackened, but did not release Remus' hands. "Then _I _don't matter."

Was it the tears she was fighting as valiantly as she fought Death Eaters? Was it the way she was simultaneously young in her unflagging belief in him, and old in the way she knocked the legs out from under his arguments?

She shouldn't know all this. She was twenty-four, for Merlin's sake, and deserved to be happy in love.

Without thinking, he pulled his hands free and lifted them to cup her cheeks. Tonks' breath hitched as her eyelids fluttered closed in anticipation of his touch.

But a millisecond and a millimetre away, Remus saw the dirt on his gloves, the grime on his fingertips, under his nails. His arms fell slack at his sides.

Shoulders slumping, Tonks opened dull eyes.

"You are more important to me than anything," said Remus.

Tonks flinched from him as though burnt, even though he had not touched her. "Prove it."

"We can't be to—"

"Don't let Greyback do this to you. He bit you when you were six, but he didn't kill Remus Lupin. He didn't even turn him. Don't let him do it now. Fight for me."

Remus' head bowed, and his fingers opened and closed as he breathed heavily. It was the sort of thing his parents had told him; it was what Dumbledore had said to assure him he could attend Hogwarts and grow up to be a normal wizard. He'd believed them. He could believe Tonks, too. He stepped toward her.

"If this were about you and me," said Remus hoarsely, "then maybe…"

No.

He stepped back. He couldn't go there. It had been easy to ignore what he was when he lived among wizards, but among werewolves – his own kind – it was undeniable. His parents, Dumbledore – they had never seen him like this. Even they would not now deny that he was what he was.

Too old for her, too poor for her, too dangerous for her.

He could only drag her down. He already had done.

"This is _not_ about you and me, Tonks. It is about the Order. The Order needs—"

"The Order needs you to stay whole!"

Remus glanced over her head to the inn. More lights were on. The horizon was lighter. Sunbeams cracked through the grey. Someone would come out soon. Tonks' voice was loud. No, she was speaking in low, urgent tones. It was the cold, the stillness – her acuity – that made his ears ring with her voice.

"…you'll have other work to do, Remus. This mission's not the end for you."

"It could be."

Tonks jolted, but shook her head vehemently. "No. It won't be. And this isn't about the Order at all. This is some personal—"

"I will not let Dumbledore down!"

"I don't see that you're making a great success of it this way!"

The trembling began again; this time, the frigid temperature of the air had nothing to do with it.

Anger roiled from his clenched fists, surging a slow course through his body.

It settled in his belly as a molten ball which hardened, then cooled to ice.

Tonks' hands covered her mouth. Above them, her dark eyes were wide. "Oh God, Remus…"

She reached out a hand. Heat radiated from her, licking at him like flames.

Remus backed away from her.

"I'm sorry," she sputtered, "I didn't mean…I shouldn't have…"

The sun broke over the horizon. Remus' eyes burned.

"We should go."

He turned, poised to Apparate, but he could not focus the necessary energies to transport himself to the Burrow.

He saw Tonks. Her anger, her fear, her sorrow.

He saw himself, languishing with the pack.

His legs gave.

Leaning heavily against a tree, Remus said quietly, "I shall need to Side-along."

He tried – and failed – not to flinch or wince as Tonks slipped her arm through his.

"Remus—"

"Not now, Nymphadora."

_The End_

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_**A/N: As always, I appreciate you readers and your continued support of the Transfigured Hearts stories. The bad news is that it's only late January in HP time, and the worst is yet to come for Remus in the months leading up to The Hospital Scene. If you review, you can make it better for him after the next full moon by Side-Along Apparating him to the Burrow for one of Molly's roast dinners, or to a private location where you will personally show him how much more there is to him than a werewolf. **_


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